


The Truth

by ladydragon76



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Crack pairing and drunken revelry at the Ark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** G1  
>  **Series:** None  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Pairings:** Mirage/Surprise  
>  **Warnings:** Drunken smut  
>  **Notes:** This was fun to write.

Nothing would ever be right or sane in the world again.

Ever.

Mirage stared up at the distant ceiling and sneered at how the bright Autobot orange clashed just so awfully with his own lovely blue and white markings.

_Should have become a Decepticon. At least then I wouldn’t be **here**! And their base is at least a somewhat pleasant shade of purple!_

The spy sighed and gave up his attempts at distracting himself rather quickly. He could sneer and bitch all he wanted but he was unfortunately too self aware to truly escape the truth. To avoid the truth. To deny the truth no matter how vehemently he wished to.

And the truth lay, still unconscious, next to him.

It was right there. Close enough for him to reach out just a little with his right hand, over that Primus forsaken _orange_ metal floor that he was _laying on, had slept on_ , and touch.

But he didn’t want to touch it. Could honestly say he had never wanted to touch it. Not in any way. Not even in his darkest most secret and forbidden fantasies had he _ever_ wanted to touch it.

Yet he’d touched it anyway.

And been touched back…

May the Unmaker take whoever it was that slipped him the deceptively strong energon.

 _And_ whoever had concocted the surprisingly smooth, pleasant tasting, and slow to hit his systems slag!

Mirage sighed again and prodded himself to rise and leave. He may be cursed with a memory that refused to fail even when completely cratered, but… _the truth_ lying next to him on that cold, hard, fragging _orange_ floor probably was not. In fact he doubted it.

His mind instantly turned away from _why_ he was likely correct because to think of _why_ would lead to _who_.

And he really couldn’t quite bear the _who_ part yet. Blessed or cursed with a memory of all he’d done while drunk did not ease the pounding, throbbing, nearly blinding pain in his processor.

_Made worse by that Gods awful orange color!_

He really should hurry and leave before…

If Rumble would just stop pounding his pile drivers on the inside of Mirage’s head for a moment, he’d leave. He’d roll away, _not look at the truth_ , and make good his escape. Turn invisible no matter how much that annoyed Red Alert when he did it on base.

The truth beside him murmured and groaned. Mirage flinched as a dark gray arm flopped across his chest, landing hard. His own once pearly-white chest that was now streaked liberally with red.

Memory flashed and the spy winced, knowing just how hard they… Well just how much pressure it took to actually score Cybertronian paint. No matter how much Tracks and Sunstreaker liked to whine to the contrary.

Mirage gave in and moaned, hands covering his face as he keened his misery into the otherwise silent storage hanger.

A storage hanger! Not even his quarters or… Well a _berth_ would have been better. But no… he drunkenly manages to stumble into a storage hanger with…

He moans again, but it comes out more of a forlorn whimper.

Primus! How could he?

And _why_ was he still laying there?!

It wasn’t _that_ good!

_Oh yes it was!_

Mirage nearly sobs as his own mind betrays him with more truth. More truth than he can bear. But the memories loop and instead of that sob, a half purr of remembered pleasure escapes instead.

~|~

He laughs as they stumble along the ridiculously orange walls of the base. An answering laugh from his companion echoes him. Powerful high grade energon doing something it has never done to either before. Makes his companion cheerful instead of even more angry than usual. Makes his companion laugh and giggle _with_ him instead of shooting snide, cruel, down right _mean_ comments at him like he normally would.

And Mirage. It makes him giddy. Makes him laugh at nothing and takes away his grace and his high born speech patterns. Takes away the sneers and attitude that he uses to keep them all at arms length.

His companion says he should stay drunk all the time. He likes the spy better this way. Mirage agrees. Says he likes his companion better this way too.

They laugh again, but it’s different now as dark gray hands slip along a side seam, brush wires entirely too confidently, dip deeper, tweak sensitive cables. They stop attempting to walk and the spy leans against the wall beside a door. He stares at it for a moment before giggling again. Tells his snickering companion he doesn’t know where the slag they are. His companion snorts a hard laugh and starts repeating the word ‘slag’, obviously amused to have heard it from Mirage. Dark fingers slide knowingly along his hip joint and a shiver racks his body. A singsong of ‘slag’ turning to a husky murmur he can’t quiet hear over his own gasp of pleasure.

Mirage is too drunk. He knows it. Knows that the slow burn building in his systems and causing his interface port and plug to ache would never happen so fast without a heavy dose of chemical lubricant. Namely that amazing energon he’d drank at the party.

And those dark fingers feel so good. He moans, a little loud.

Primus bless whoever gave him that cube and the creator of such an amazing concoction.

His companion giggles and turns to the mystery door. It opens easily.

Must’ve been unlocked.

They tumble dizzy into the room and the lights come on overhead. It’s just a storage hanger but it’ll do. Mirage isn’t quite drunk enough to not care who hears him overload.

And oh yes… he is definitely going to overload. And well if the talented hands roaming his body are any indication.

Well not yet… that would be shameful. He’s barely even touched his companion.

The spy sets about remedying that oversight and runs his own hands over the other mech’s body. He’s never been with this one. His form is different. Smaller, shorter, more compact. Mirage’s slim graceful fingers can fit between the other’s armor seams though so he isn’t concerned.

Their giggles and laughs have fallen away, replaced now by quiet moans and soft whimpers.

Until Mirage suddenly tilts and lands on his aft.

They’re both laughing but only for as long as it takes his companion to roll him over and begin a careful and oh so pleasurable exploration of Mirage’s back, aft, backs of his thighs…

He’s mewling in need and begging by the time his new lover gets his delightful fingers into the spy’s ankle wheel well. Little bolts of energy skate his systems and Mirage wonders whether or not the very next touch will send him into overload.

His companion either senses it or, more likely, wants some attention himself.

Mirage is rolled back over, his waist straddled by dark sleek thighs, and he immediately reaches for his lover. He digs his fingers in everywhere, pleased and burning more with every lust laden growl and moan he earns.

The other’s interface panel springs open with the barest touch. Mirage feels his do the same under dark gray, skillful fingers. He’s nearly blinded by the shock of bliss that causes him to arch his back off the floor. He’s nearly deafened by the cry of pleasure from his lover.

He’s definitely surprised by the sheer volume.

And that helps.

The spy uses that to bring his concentration into gently teasing out his companion’s plug. Uses it to try and ignore the waves of near ecstasy hitting him as the other does the very same thing to him. He gasps as impatience seems to grip his lover. The other clicking Mirage’s plug into place without a single wasted movement.

The spy plays, teases. Lets the other’s plug graze his port. Slides the fingers of his other hand along the slim cable. There’s a pleading tone to the shuddering groan that breaks from his lover’s lips.

Mirage suddenly realizes he hasn’t even kissed this mech.

He clicks the plug into place and reaches up to drag his companion down against his chest. Lips meet, glossas tangle, and energy begins to ripple across the double link they’ve created.

They’re no longer being playful and exploring. They’re being rough, needy, bodies twisting and grinding together as hands grip tight and mouths practically fuse together. Cooling systems whirr louder than before but their cries are louder still.

Mirage gasps as his lover suddenly goes still, red back arching. He purposely relaxes his own body as the backlash of the other mech’s overload floods over their connection. He loops it back even as he screams… truly screams… with the force of his own overload.

Then screams again, laughing through it too, at the knowledge that his lover really _is_ very good at interfacing.

They ride each other’s crests until his companion drops offline. Mirage lies under the slight weight and waits for his respiration and cooling system to slow, then he carefully rolls his lover to the side, unhooks them from one another, and then finally, with an exhausted, thoroughly sated sigh, allows himself to drop into recharge.

~|~

A sudden lurch from the mech pressed to his side brings Mirage back from the memories.

“What. The. _Slag_! Am I doing on the floor recharging with you?!”

The spy closed his optics and sighed. “I suppose you don’t remember last night then?” he asked, already knowing the answer and not wanting to explain anything. Definitely not wanting to explain _the truth_.

“If I did, why the frag would I ask?”

Mirage sighed again and braced himself for the pain as he heaved himself from the floor as gracefully as he could manage with the hangover roaring in his audials. “Honestly, Cliffjumper. If you can’t figure it out, I’m not telling you.”

He turned to the door and engaged his cloaking device as he neared it. Mirage keyed the door open and exited. Then just about spun around and walked right back into the storage hanger to ask if he’d heard the blasted minibot correctly.

The spy decided against it. Cliffjumper didn’t remember, which was a good thing… really. And he most certainly did _not_ just thank Mirage for anything.

Especially not the amazing interfacing.

No. That did not happen.

He was certain of that.

He _was_! He really was.

 _Yeah right_ , spoke his traitorous mind.

The spy walked slowly to his own quarters, very… almost deliriously… happy he didn’t have a mission scheduled that day. He was going to lie in his berth and not think about _the truth_ anymore. Because if he did he knew that the world would just never be right or sane for him again.

Ever.


End file.
